Shipwrecked
by AmethystWren
Summary: None of it makes sense. None of it. Nothing. It used to, and she hopes that one day it will again, but right now Annie can barely concentrate on anything besides her own confusion. This is the story of how she fell apart, of pieces picked up and put back only to be dropped once again. Her name is Annie Cresta, and she is so terribly confused. Odesta.
1. Prologue

**So, yes, one of my barely-started Odesta stories has been taken down and the other put on hiatus so that I can focus on this. My new baby for which I have the first three chapters typed up and ready to go. I just have more of an idea of where to go with this one without running myself into a ditch, you know?**

**I hope you enjoy it :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. Or Annie. Or Finnick. Or anything you recognise, really. They're property of Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

She can't feel her legs.

Annie glances down to make sure that they are indeed still there.

They are.

Then why aren't they moving?

"Whoops." Dom says casually, wiping the blood off of his sabre and onto the fabric at the leg of his arena costume, "How clumsy of me."

It doesn't register. None of it does. Not Dom with his sneer and his lies and his horrible, _horrible_ voice; not the sabre, with crimson rivulets running down the length of its otherwise unmarred shining blade; not the body a few feet away, slumped over so that its headless stump is hidden from view; not the head itself that lies by her feet, hazel eyes staring up at her, glassy and void of any kind of life.

None of it makes any sense.

And then something blossoms in the wake of her confusion, like a light in the depths of a long, dark night. She latches onto it without a moment's hesitation, the one thought which seems to make at least some degree of sense in amongst all this chaos.

_Run_.

Stumbling blindly through the forest, Annie ignores Dom when he calls after her, quickens her pace when she hears him start after her. Not heeding where she goes, she seems to fly through the forest. Bushes and tree branches reach out to scratch at her limbs, at her face, to tangle in her hair only to be broken when she doesn't stop to untie herself.

Annie doesn't feel anything. She doesn't feel any of it at all.

When she can't run anymore, she stops. The extent of it all, of everything, slams into her quite suddenly as the world comes rushing back in one great surge that she couldn't possibly have any hope of quelling.

It all makes sense. Yet at the same time, none of it does.

If she thinks about it too much, it just grows more confusing, so she presses the matter out of her mind and looks around for somewhere safe to spend the night.

* * *

It comes in waves throughout the course of the night, washing over her when she least expects it and reducing her to nothing more than a trembling, snivelling wreck and then floating out to sea again like it was never there.

Not long after dark, a parachute arrives for her. It waits at the mouth of the cave she's found, bleeping rhythmically until she's plucked up the courage to climb up onto her feet and retrieve it. Inside, she finds a silver flask containing hot chocolate. She can taste the cream and the cinnamon added to the welcome concoction when she takes her first sip, which scalds her tongue and makes her silently vow not to drink any more until it has had chance to cool.

Taking it with her back into the confines of her cave, Annie cuddles that flask. It;s warm, whereas she is not. In the morning she awakens wet and sticky, finding to her dismay that the lid has fallen from her flask during the night and thus that she has been drenched in its contents.

That it might've been blood plastering her clothing to her skin makes Annie feel sick, but though she retches violently she does not throw up. She thinks that perhaps her stomach might pity her, hence why it decided not to empty its contents all over her dark, safe haven.

She thinks a lot of people are pitying her right now. If she didn't feel so numb, she might too.

* * *

That night, a second parachute arrives. This one bares a pump bottle of lavender scented soap and a short note that reads: "Sorry about the mess" in her mentor's blunt, simple handwriting.

Annie smiles to herself, knowing that the note is in reference to the hot chocolate incident, and sets the chrome box down beside her last at the back of the cave.

Squirting a small amount of the soap into her hands, she works it into a foamy lather before massaging it into her hair, from the roots to the very tips. Shedding her streamlined arena wear, Annie gets to work rubbing herself down with the soap, not only washing away the faint hot chocolate stain, but also the grime and the dirt and the blood.

She puts the blood out of her mind, somehow tricking herself into thinking of it as just another stain on her once-smooth skin that must be eradicated. When she's finished washing herself, Annie tries her best to wash the muck out of her clothing, sliding it back on once she's finished and fumbling with the zip at her back.

Cleaner than she has been in what feels like years, Annie places the now empty pump bottle with her equally empty flask and parachute boxes. Re-reading the note from Finnick once more, she giggles herself to sleep tonight, as opposed to the crying of yesterday.

* * *

She bolts upright, breathing heavily. Her hands fumble in the darkness for some sort of a weapon, and it takes a few agonisingly long seconds for her to realise that it was just a dream; just a horrible, _horrible_ dream.

The comfort is short-lived, for Annie's brain seems intent to remind her that it might've just been a nightmare, but it was one grounded in truth. Much to her annoyance, she finds herself sobbing uncontrollably, unable to stop even though her lungs are burning and her ribs aching under the strain. She wraps her arms around herself in a poor attempt at comfort.

It takes a while for Annie to realise that outside of her personal bubble, something is breaking the otherwise perfect silence. Crawling to the mouth of the cave, she takes the silver box attached to this latest parachute inside with her and opens it tentatively, still snivelling but no longer quite so much of a wreck.

The content of the box changes that.

Somewhere out there, in the world that still soldiers on outside of this arena, Finnick Odair is probably kicking himself. He's probably asking himself how he could be so stupid, even if his intentions were good and just.

Annie doesn't think about any of that, not immediately. It's difficult to think about anything at all, save for the ball of string staring back at her from within the confines of its box.

"I'm sorry." Annie chokes as her sobbing fit consumes her once more, like high tide might the beach. "I'm so, so sorry."

The words become a mantra which she repeats over and over, as though they hold some sort of magical power that might protect her, might save her from this hell.

Of course, they don't. Nothing can save her. Not now.


	2. The Gym

**I was going to make you all wait until Friday for this, but here- have an early present!**

**This chapter is sort of uneventful, but it's important for the next chapter to make any sense. And if there is anything that is a bit confusing, I promise you it'll make sense later. Honest!**

**I hope you enjoy it :)**

* * *

_Once upon a while ago..._

"You're going to crush that thing if you keep holding it like that."

In the brief second it took Annie to look up at the speaker, her beloved tabby cat had kicked her in the stomach and bounded out of her lap. Landing a few feet away, it turned to narrow its green eyes at her mockingly before scampering off.

"Julien!" She scolded the eighteen year old boy as he flopped down onto the porch step beside her. "You have no idea how long it took me to catch him!"

Julien snorted in response. Annie had learnt long ago that this was his way of laughing; he never giggled or made a show of the fact that he found something amusing, he just snorted silently to himself and continued on his way. That was just the way he was.

"Somehow, I don't think he was enjoying that wrestling match as much as you were." He teased.

Annie folded her arms crossly. "It wasn't a wrestling match; it was a cuddle. And besides, how would _you_ know what my cat is thinking?"

Julien shrugged, replying modestly, "It's a talent."

Annie elbowed him in the ribs. He cried out in pain and nudged her with his shoulder in response.

"I'm not letting you in the house until you bring Paws back to me." She informed him casually, standing up and opening the door to the building behind them.

Julien swivelled round, still sitting down, and stared up at the twelve year old girl, aghast. "But it's getting dark!"

Annie shrugged nonchalantly. "You should've though about that before you scared her away."

She suspected the he had a great deal to argue against her point, but before he had chance to voice any of it she was inside the house. Slamming the door shut behind her, she twisted the key in the lock and headed down the hall, ignoring the frantic knocking against the panel of frosted glass behind her.

He'd be fine, and Annie knew that. This wasn't the first time she'd locked her brother out.

* * *

There was a slight spring to her step that particularly hot spring morning. Worn school satchel slung over her shoulder, Annie stopped a little way before the wrought iron gates to the building, swivelling around upon hearing her name being called.

"Annie, wait up!"

The voice was a familiar one. It was that of her best friend Marisol, who wasted no time in enveloping Annie in a crushing hug. Impromptu, inescapably tight cuddles were Marisol's speciality.

"It feels like I haven't seen you in years!" The golden haired girl gushed.

Annie rolled her eyes as they continued walking through the gate. "It's been two days, Mari." She replied in a monotone. "I haven't seen you since Friday."

"Still," Her best friend insisted. "It feels like it's been a lot longer." There was a pause that lasted all of two seconds. "Have you done the maths homework?"

"Of course," Annie replied, in a voice that suggests that her answer ought to have been obvious. "Why? Haven't you?"

"No…" Marisol admitted bashfully. "I couldn't make sense of it. I could've sworn half the terms on that sheet are just made up."

Since this happened most every Monday morning, Annie wasn't too surprised. In fact, she would probably have been more surprised if her friend _had_ done her maths over the weekend.

"You can copy mine up at break." She assured Marisol, "But _only_ if you promise to help me in cookery class when Mr Dardles isn't looking."

"Deal!" The blonde accepted, holding out a hand for the brunette to shake.

It proved difficult to whilst they were walking, so they stopped at the doorway and shook hands there, cementing their promise. Again, such an occurrence happened most every Monday, for if Marisol was hopeless at maths, then Annie was truly awful when it came to cookery class. Their flaws balanced each-other out.

* * *

Julien was late home. Perhaps if she'd had something to be doing, Annie wouldn't have felt the need to go and meet him. But she was bored, and he should've finished at the training centre a while ago.

As the daughter of the jeweller, Annie lived in the Town that housed the slightly better off side of District 4. Of course, the richest people were the victors up in Victor's Village on the hill. The people residing in District 4's Town provided things that people needed- food, clothing and the like. They ran the shops. And those down in the Strand, they were the ones who had to fish for their living. They were the souls who went out at sunrise and came in at sunset, wasting their lives providing even more food for a Capitol population that probably didn't even need it.

Really, Annie was quite fortunate, safe in the knowledge that her father was tucked up at the family shop all day and not potentially drowning, that Julien would inherit the business one day, that he'd never need risk his life in a storm far from land.

The training centre was located at the immediate centre of Town. Despite being equipped with more weaponry and training facilities than one could shake a spear at, the outside was just that of any fairly well-to-do house in the Town. It made it easier for the Peacekeepers to turn a blind eye to it, to pretend they had no idea of the activities that took place within. After all, training tributes up for the Hunger Games was illegal.

The sign outside it said it was a 'gymnasium', and on all the official documents that's what it was called. Although no-one ever spoke of it as anything more, they all knew exactly what it was for truly. It was an unspoken truth, something they all knew but wouldn't dare say aloud for fear of who might hear them.

Pushing the green painted door to the building, Annie poked her head inside. It was fairly quiet, since most people preferred to wait until the end of the week before concentrating on conditioning themselves into killing machines.

"Julien?" Annie called out, taking a tentative step inside.

If she strained her ears, the twelve year old girl could hear the grunts of heavy practicing. Assuming that her brother must be so focused on his training that he'd not heard her, Annie pressed further into the building, down the hall.

At each room, she'd knock on the door before opening it and poking her head around. Every room she came across was empty, but methodically she continued on. By the time she'd reached the second to last door in the corridor, she was starting to worry. Noticing that the thwacks of someone attacking a training dummy seemed to be louder here, she hoped it meant her brother was inside.

Knocking thrice, she didn't bother to wait for an answer before forcing the door open and poking her head through.

The boy who turned to look at her was most certainly _not_ her big brother. In fact, Annie didn't think he could be much older than her. The worn, patched clothes he wore indicated that he was from a poorer background, which seemed odd. Rarely was anyone from the Strand caught within the confines of the training complex willingly. They were usually all so focused on feeding their families, on surviving, to have the time to be.

This boy was staring at her as though she had grown an extra head, and suddenly Annie felt extremely self conscious.

"I was looking for my brother." She explained hurriedly. "Have you seen him?"

For the first time since she'd accidentally walked in on him, the stranger smiled. "Sorry, I haven't." He apologised.

She felt her heart sink. "Oh, okay. Thanks anyway." She turned to leave, praying that he'd be behind the final door.

He wasn't.

* * *

When she arrived home, tear tracks still staining her cheeks, to find Julien lounging casually across the sofa, Annie hurled herself at him. A raging mass of flying fists and kicking feet, she scolded him over and over for making her worry so much.

"Woah, calm down," Her brother tried to soothe her, enveloping her in a hug that pinned her arms down by her sides and prevented her from attacking him further. "What's gotten into you?"

"I went to meet you at the gymnasium and you weren't there." Annie replied, her voice muffled due to the fact that the grip he held her in forced her face against his shirt. "I thought something might've happened."

"What could've possibly happened?" Julien asked.

Annie refrained from relating any one of the colourful scenarios that had run themselves through the forefront of her mind as she'd walked home.

When she didn't answer, her brother sighed and hugged her tighter.

"I'm sorry, Annie." He apologised. "I was at a- a friend's house."

The slight stutter in his voice made Annie wonder, and as his sister she wouldn't have been doing her duty if she didn't take the opportunity to tease him.

"A girl, by chance?" She teased, wriggling out of the cuddle and grinning.

Julien flushed an interesting shade of crimson, but he didn't deny it, as Annie had thought he would. Perhaps she didn't know him as well as she thought she did.

* * *

**Can anyone guess who the boy in the training centre was? ;)**

**Clue: He'll be back next chapter. And he's very important to the story.**


	3. Finnick Odair

**I'm still not 100% happy with this chapter, but I think it's the best I can make it without changing the plot of the whole story. So there you go.**

* * *

When Marisol was reaped, Annie wasn't really sure how the day could get any worse. As her dear friend made her way up to the stage on shaking legs, Annie prayed that someone volunteered, that someone out there was willing to take her place. In a Career district, it was entirely possible.

She tried to assure herself of this, even as her stomach grew heavier and heavier, sinking like a doomed ship out at sea.

No-one volunteered for Marisol.

The haze of tears clouding her vision made it difficult to see the rest of that Reaping ceremony. A hundred crazy ideas came to mind, ridiculous notions that another Annie in another universe might've been brave enough to see through. But not this Annie, not here; as much as she loved her dear best friend, there was not an awful lot she could do.

The second tribute was a large, muscular boy she didn't recognise, for which she was thankful. If she had been forced to lose her best friend and her brother in the same moment, she didn't know what she'd do with herself.

Only then he volunteered; the boy from the gymnasium.

He was wearing a shirt and black trousers, both of which looked entirely too big for him, but seeing as he lived in the Strand, Annie suspected that it was the best outfit he owned.

The boy who had initially been reaped shot the gymnasium boy a venomous glare as he confidently strode by, headed for the stage where District 4's escort waited, jaw hanging open, arm wrapped around Marisol's shoulders in a poor attempt to feign concern.

"Well, isn't this exciting?" Thalia Whishart asked the crowd of District 4 citizens, her attention swiftly moving away from Annie's snivelling friend and onto this new, less pitiful looking tribute. "What's your name, poppet?"

"Finnick," The boy replied confidently, holding out a hand for Thalia to shake.

She did so vigorously, obviously pleased to have a tribute so polite, so willing. The usual volunteers at eighteen were very much the latter, but their manners normally bordered on non-existent. Annie supposed that Thalia must think this fellow made a nice change.

She herself couldn't stop glancing over at Marisol throughout the whole exchange, attempting to use the power of her mind to telepathically make her stop crying so much. Didn't she know that all of Panem could see this? The other tributes were probably marvelling at her weakness and outlining all the ways they could take her down already.

How could she not see that?

"And your last name?" Thalia asked of the boy, Finnick.

"Odair," He replied, grinning.

The escort smiled back. "And why did you volunteer, Mr. Odair?"

"Because I _know_ I can win."

"Well, there you have it." Thalia beamed, turning to face the crowd. "This year's tributes from Distict 4: Marisol Lean and Finnick Odair!"

The crowd applauded, as was expected of them, as Thalia ushered the two children into the Justice Building behind her. And they _were_ just children that year, not the usual eighteen year old walls of muscle that normally left the Career districts headed for the Capitol.

Pushing through the dissipating crowd, Annie wasn't sure what she was going to say to her dear best friend, only that she had to take this opportunity to see her. No matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, she knew this would be her final chance to do so.

By the time the Peacekeeper at the door let her in (after Marisol's family had been to weep and say their goodbyes), Annie was a mess. Sobbing, she all but flew through the door and enveloped her best friend in a hug.

Marisol returned the gesture in her usual manner, squeezing the air out of Annie's lungs. Only this time it was accompanied by the pitiful wailing of a twelve year old girl who knew she was going to die. The brunette patted her back somewhat awkwardly and cried with her, for once not irritated by the fact that Marisol's bone-crushing hug was making it difficult for her to breathe.

Heck, if there was a way for Marisol to stay with her, safe and alive, Annie would have been willing to put up with suffocating cuddles every day for the rest of her life. At least they'd mean her dear friend was still there, after all.

"I'm going to die, Annie." Marisol sniffled. "I'm going to die and I don't want to."

"You have a chance." Annie tried to sound reassuring, but the effect was marred by the fact that they both knew that she was lying, trying to make light of a situation completely shrouded in darkness. "Every single person who enters the Games has a chance."

"I don't," Marisol insisted, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobbing, "Not really."

Annie didn't want to argue over something so trivial, not when this was probably the last time she'd ever see her friend alive and breathing and standing before her. So she just hugged her tighter and wept into her shoulder, waiting for the Peacekeeper to stick his head around the door and tell her that her time was up.

* * *

There was a brief second where she lingered in the foyer of the Justice Building, contemplating whether or not this was the best idea she'd ever had. After all, she'd only ever had one conversation with the boy.

Tiptoeing to the door of the room he'd been placed in to say his goodbyes, Annie told herself that she would leave if there was anyone outside waiting. And surely, she thought, there must be, for someone so confident and positively reckless as him must've had a lot of friends.

A sobbing woman was led out of the room by a man whom Annie figured must have been her husband. His arm was draped around her shoulders, rubbing patterns into her forearm in a vain attempt to soothe her. Holding onto the woman's left hand was a little girl, no more than five, who seemed incredibly confused. She struggled to keep up with her parents, stumbling a little as she trotted alongside them. The woman's other hand rested atop the swell of her stomach, which seemed to indicate another child was on the way.

The fact that this must've been the family the boy was leaving behind made Annie want to cry, but she didn't. She had cried enough this morning. And besides, those tears were for her best friend, not some boy she barely knew.

Aside from the mourning family, who were leaving, there was no-one outside this 'Finnick' boy's door. And Annie stuck to her promises, even if they were silly little ones she'd whispered to herself in an attempt to make light of a dim situation. She was going to visit this boy.

The Peacekeeper at the door allowed her entry. It took a moment for her to spot the boy, sitting cross-legged on the floor rather than in one of the plush chairs by the window.

"I wasn't expecting anyone else." He admitted, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. They were slightly red and puffy, Annie noticed; he'd been crying. She did not mention it, however, for fear of offending him. People could get awfully touchy if you noticed such things.

Unsure of what she should say now that she was there, Annie knelt down in front of him and placed her hands in her lap.

"Did you find him?" Finnick asked.

Annie looked up at him, for he was a good deal taller than her, and wrinkled her nose in confusion. "Find who?"

"Your brother," He clarified. "You were looking for him, remember?"

"Oh," She nodded, because she did indeed remember. "Yes, I did."

"Good."

An uneasy silence settled over them. Annie was contemplating getting up and leaving, so ridiculously embarrassed was she that she'd come to say goodbye to someone she barely knew.

The fact that no-one else was willing to come here save for his family, that the people he had spoken to _more_ than once were so quick to run away, was what made her stay.

"She's your friend, isn't she?" Finnick said eventually, breaking the silence. His voice sounded loud in comparison to the quiet that had preceded it. "The girl, Marisol,"

Annie nodded, unsure of how he had come across such information. Apparently noticing her confusion, he smiled weakly.

"I've seen you at school once or twice." He explained. "You're always together. The only time I've ever seen you on your own was that time at the gymnasium," Then, almost like an afterthought, "And now of course."

Again, she nodded. His explanation made sense, but she was not really sure how she could respond to it.

She changed the subject. She liked to think she was rather good at doing that.

"How old are you?" Annie asked. For she knew he couldn't be much older than her, and was completely puzzled by the idea that he might volunteer so soon. It'd surely have made more sense to wait a few years, until he was eighteen.

"Fourteen," Finnick replied, adding before she had chance to question him further, "And before you ask, I _know_ I could've waited until I was eighteen. But money's tight. The landlord said that if we can't pay our rent, we'll be out on the street come the end of the month; even though Sandra's only six and Ma's pregnant. If I win, we'll never need to worry about money again. And if I lose, well, there's one less mouth to feed."

He grinned in an attempt to make his confession seem a little more light-hearted, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. And besides, the unwavering sincerity in his voice completely counteracted any playfulness he might've tried to weave into it.

"Don't kill her." Annie blurted out before she could stop herself. "Marisol, I mean."

The smile he gave her this time seemed much more sincere. "I won't."

"You have to promise." Annie insisted.

"I promise."

"Cross your heart!"

He laughed, although he did raise a hand and draw a cross across his chest with a finger. "Cross my heart."

Satisfied, Annie bobbed her head in an almost-nod and glanced over at the door. As though on cue, it flew open and the Peacekeeper outside stuck his head into the room.

"Time's up." He explained bluntly.

Annie started to head towards the door before the man came in to fetch her. He was a muscular fellow, and at least twice as high as her- she was quite certain that he'd find no difficulty in snapping her in two if she frustrated him.

"Wait, little girl!" Finnick yelled after her, tripping over his own legs in his haste to stand up. "I never caught your…" He trailed off as the door slams shut. "Name…"

Sighing tiredly, he reclaimed his seat upon the floor and stared at the carpet until someone came to collect him.

* * *

Marisol sat by the window on the train, watching Panem run by. She'd never thought it was possible to travel so fast before the train set off. Although she'd been a little unnerved by it at first, she'd now decided that she found the gentle rock of the carriage somewhat comforting.

A large part of her wished it would never stop.

"Hey, Mari," A voice called out.

Marisol turned to face the newcomer and smiled in friendly manner, raising a hand to rub at her eye despite the fact that it was fine- perhaps even a little drier than was comfortable. She'd not cried since she left the Justice Building, knowing that it was important to maintain a strong persona all the time she was in the public eye from now on, just in case one of her fellow tributes was watching the broadcast. She would hate to be singled out as weak. If she had to die, she would die fighting.

"I _can_ call you Mari, right?" Her District partner- oh, Finnick, wasn't it? - checked.

As he started to head over, Marisol moved over a little so that he could sit beside her on the windowsill. He did so, glancing out the window briefly before flashing her a smile and smacking his hands against his knees.

"You have a friend." He said eventually, after much fidgeting and glancing around the place.

Marisol nodded. "I do, yes."

"Just the one?"

Unsure of how she was supposed to respond to that, the golden haired girl took a moment to formulate a response. "Friendship isn't something to be taken lightly." Pause. "Yes, I only have one."

"Thought so," The boy replied, catching Marisol a little off guard. How did someone know something like that? Had he been watching her? "What's her name?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Odair," She snapped, feeling rather proud of herself for remembering the boy's surname, "But I do not divulge information on a personal level concerning my friend."

Much to her annoyance, Finnick started to laugh.

Marisol slid off of her perch at the windowsill before she slapped him. She hated being teased, and it seemed to her like that was exactly what the older boy was doing. She stormed out of the carriage and in the direction of the room that she had been told was hers until they'd reached the Capitol. In the corridor, she almost collided with Mags, one of the two mentors for the Games that year.

"What's gotten into you?" The elderly woman asked, though something in her tone implied that she could guess quite easily.

Marisol didn't grace her with an answer, just slammed her door shut and punched the wall.

This was going to be one long trip, she could tell. And she was not even going to be granted to merit of going home when it was all over.


	4. The Last Obstacle

**Warning: There is violence in this chapter! Not sure how graphic that violence is... If anybody feels uncomfortable and/or thinks I should raise the rating on this fic, let me know. I'm probably over-reacting, but I read through it to edit it and just thought "Woah, where the hell did that come from! 0.0"**

**But yay, longest chapter so far! :D**

* * *

It was evident early on who the Capitol's favourite District was that year. From the moment 4's chariot came rolling out during the Opening Parade, one would've had to be blind not to see it.

Finnick Odair cleaned up nicely, it turned out. Beneath the grime of the Strand, his skin possessed a glowing tan and his hair was blonde with little flecks of auburn in it. His stylist seemed to have picked up on the latter, for the toga he wore seemed to be copper or some other metal of similar colouring, designed to look like a thick fishing net. It made the natural highlights in his hair stand out even more; if Annie was honest, she'd not even noticed them before.

Marisol wore a dress of shimmering green scales which glimmered in a manner not quite blinding beneath the Capitol lights. Her hair had been curled into bouncy, tight ringlets that bobbed whenever she moved her head. There was a emerald starfish painted on her left cheek, the outline adorned with glitter so that it, like her dress, dazzled beneath the city's lights.

Both tributes smiled brightly and waved, seemingly confident and unafraid. Marisol in particular seemed an entirely different person to the sobbing little girl Annie had left in the Justice Building. She hoped that perhaps Marisol had come to her senses, that maybe she had realised that crying on live TV was not going to do herself any favours.

Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith praised their tanned skin and golden hair, as though it wasn't present in most of District 4's population.

"I'm sure the sponsors will be keeping their eyes on these two, Claudius." Caesar commented enthusiastically.

Annie crossed her fingers and hoped he was right.

* * *

The male District 3 tribute (a lanky boy with a shock of red hair and a splatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose) was perhaps halfway through his interview with Caesar Flickerman. Backstage, Marisol shuffled forward a few steps to stand just inside the door and glanced over her shoulder at Finnick.

"You'll be fine." He promised, as though reading her thoughts.

"I hope you're right." She mumbled.

Marisol tried to remember what it was her mentor, Musa, had told her to do during her interview.

"Be confident, be polite, smile." She whispered to herself under her breath. "Confident, polite, smile. Confident, polite, smile."

"You're up." Finnick interrupted her, nodding towards the stage.

Taking a deep breath, she composed herself before heading out. Caesar Flickerman stood up from his chair to greet her, shaking her hand and offering her the other seat.

She thanked him and sat down, only now turning to look at the vast crowd of Capitol citizens gathered in the studio to watch the interviews. Her legs couldn't give out beneath her if she was sitting down.

There were an _awful_ lot of people. She'd seen the Hunger Games on television before, of course, but somehow the crowd seemed even bigger when they were right in front of her.

"So, Marisol," Caesar Flickerman said.

The fair-haired girl waved at the crowd, who cheered in response, and turned to face Caesar, placing her hands in her lap and smiling politely.

"At twelve years old, you're this year's youngest tribute." The presenter explained gently. "Do you think that puts you at a disadvantage?"

_Confident, polite, smile._

"No, Caesar. I don't." She assured him, beaming as brightly as she could. "If anything, I'd say it'll work in my favour."

"Oh?" Caesar leaned forward slightly in his chair. "How so?"

Marisol giggled, as though she was about to tell him a secret that she should be keeping to herself. "I'll be a smaller target, won't I? So it'll be easier to miss me."

Caesar pointed at her and turned to look at the Capitol audience, jaw dropped in mock surprise. They ate it up, laughing at both his expression and the young girl's comment.

"You might be onto something there." He told Marisol, his voice sincere. The timer rang and he stood up. Marisol followed his example.

He took her hand, raising it above her head.

"Marisol Lean!" He announced. The crowd cheered as the little girl giggled, still not used to being quite so in the spotlight.

Caesar let her go and pointed towards the edge of the stage, where the tributes who had been interviewed were lined up to watch those remaining. She smiled and thanked him for telling her where to go before scampering over and standing next to the boy from District 3. He offered her a shy smile, which she returned, but otherwise they ignored each-other.

Marisol looked back over at the stage just in time to see Finnick, striding over to Caesar as though it was what he was born to do. He waved at the Capitol crowds and blew kisses, stopping only when he reached his chair, which he flopped down into without being asked. Marisol wondered if Mags had given him the same advice as Musa had her;_ be confident, be polite, smile_. He certainly had the first part down to a 'T'.

Between the two of them, the 65th Hunger Games' tributes from District 4 had the sponsors wrapped around their little fingers.

* * *

Annie and her brother sat on the sofa in front of the television. Paws was curled up on Annie's lap, a purring mound of fur with two green eyes and claws sharp enough that she could feel them through her skirt but not so pointed that they'd break her skin.

Neither sibling spoke to the other, although Annie did reach over and take Julien's hand in her own. He gave it a reassuring squeeze, eyes glued to the television screen.

Though neither one of them said it, they both automatically began searching for Marisol as the timer began its countdown.

"There!" Annie said, jumping up suddenly and sending Paws tumbling to the floor. The cat hissed at her and fled the room before Annie had chance to apologise to it.

Julien tugged her back into her place beside him on the sofa, using his free hand to place a finger to his lips, signalling that she should be quiet. Annie concentrated on Marisol, who was standing between the boy from 3 and the girl from 8.

_Ten…_

Marisol nodded her head at someone, potentially Finnick. Annie didn't know, she was too busy focusing on the image of her best friend, standing on a podium in a stance that indicated she was ready to run.

_Nine…_

_Please don't go to the Cornucopia_, Annie begged silently in her mind. _Please just get out of there, before the bloodbath starts_.

_Eight_…

Marisol made eye contact with the boy from 3 and smiled reassuringly.

_Seven…_

Paws strutted into the living room proudly and curled up on top of Annie's feet.

_Six…_

The camera switched so that Annie could no longer see Marisol. Instead, she found herself staring into the hazel eyes of the girl from District 2, which were narrowed in concentration or thought.

_Five…_

The girl from 2 turned to someone positioned to her left, out of the camera's view, and grinned.

_Four…_

Paws stretched and yawned before promptly falling asleep on Annie's bare feet.

_Three…_

The camera panned out again. It took Annie a moment to spot Marisol, who still looked more or less the same as she did four seconds previously.

_Two…_

Julien squeezed Annie's hand wordlessly. She squeezed back.

_One…_

The twenty four tributes leapt off of their podiums. Much to Annie's initial confusion, Marisol ran straight to the boy from District 1.

"Where's your District partner, 4?" The tall blonde boy asked. Annie wasn't sure whether or not he meant it to sound scary, but somehow it did anyway.

"He's here." Finnick cut in, running over to join the two of them. The girls from 1 and 2 had already snatched up weapons (a pack of knives with different sorts of blade and a slender chrome spear respectively), and the boy from 2 was fist-fighting the girl from 7.

"She's joined the Careers." Annie breathed. She turned to face her older brother. "Julien, is that good?"

"I don't know." He replied cautiously.

* * *

Eight days in, and the Career pack had yet to lose a single member. Besides the six of them, there was only one remaining tribute; the boy from District 5, who had so far proved brilliant at hiding since they had not so much as glimpsed him since the countdown ended over a week ago.

Four out of the six Careers were snuggled up in their sleeping bags, with the two tributes from 1 still awake, keeping watch lest the tribute from 5 try anything during the night. It didn't seem his style to ambush alliances, but the Games were drawing to a close by then; people grew desperate to speed things up at this point. For all the two District 1 tributes knew, everyone else was asleep.

Finnick Odair had always found it difficult to fall straight to sleep. He used to lie and stare at the crack in the ceiling above his bed, and try to look for pictures in the uneven plaster surrounding it.

Of course, out there beneath the stars, he couldn't very well do that. He'd adopted his father's old method of closing his eyes and hoping he'd eventually drift off, even though that rarely seemed to work for him.

"When are we going to call of the alliance?" He heard the girl from 1, Shimmer, whisper to her District partner.

Finnick kept his eyes squeezed shut and listened intently.

Her partner took a moment to respond; "I think we should wait."

"Why?" Shimmer whispered harshly. "I mean, think about it; we could just kill them now."

"Clarus is the best fighter out of all of us," Clarus was the boy from District 2, and was built like a heavily fortified military tank. "We should wait until he's taken out the kid from 5 for us. And _then_ we'll give the Capitol the finale they've been waiting for. All six Careers, in one massive bloodbath. They'll love it."

Finnick couldn't see them, for his eyes were shut and his back was to them, but he knew they were sharing a sickeningly cruel smile. The two tributes from 1 that year had a habit of doing that.

Unsure of what he ought to do with his newfound information, Finnick continued to feign sleep, his mind buzzing with possibilities and plans.

* * *

All throughout the next day, Finnick was on constant alert in case the two from 1 sprung anything upon the rest of them. Part of him hoped they never found the boy from 5, simply because his death would result in the finale that Shine had mentioned, and he didn't think he was ready for that yet.

Midday rolled around. Clarus stated that he was hungry and sat down on the ground, refusing to move until they had eaten something. Begrudgingly, his District partner agreed that it was probably best to get some food into their systems before they did more walking, and it was settled.

The Career pack sat down on the forest floor and shared a packet of salted peanuts.

"Now my throat's dry." Shimmer complained. "Hey, Parasol, can you pass the water?"

Marisol shot the older girl a glare which made Finnick laugh and rummaged around in one of the three backpacks the group had between them, taking out the silvered flask and handing it over.

Shimmer opened it and raised it to her lips. A few seconds later, she took it away and tipped it upside-down, rolling her eyes tiredly.

"It's empty." She pointed out.

"Well, go refill it then." The girl from two, Nona, huffed. "It's not going to do it by itself."

Shimmer groaned dramatically. "Do I _have_ to?"

"_You're_ the one who's so desperate for a drink!" Nona snapped. "So _yes_, you do!"

"Here," Finnick offered, holding out a hand for the flask. "I'll do it."

Shimmer narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.

"It's alright." He assured her, smiling cockily. He was getting rather good at that, he thought; smiling cockily at people. "I've got pins-and-needles in my foot; I need to go for a walk anyway, and the river's not that far from here."

The girl from 1 gave him the flask and struck up a conversation about what she was going to do to the boy from 5 when she got hold of him, the others cutting in to add their own colourful suggestions.

Finnick shot Marisol a sympathetic smile and jumped to his feet, heading in the direction of the river to refill the flask and work the tingling numbness out of his right foot.

Kneeling down by the water, he refilled the flask and screwed the cap back onto it. On a whim, Finnick submerged his hands in the water. It was freshwater, not the saltwater he was used to swimming in back home, but even then it was better than no body of water at all.

It was a small reminder of home, no matter how loosely it fitted, and it made him smile fondly to himself.

The rhythmic bleeping of a parachute made him pull his hands out from beneath the water and dry them off hastily on the green t-shirt that all tributes wore in the arena that year.

Holding the flask between his knees so that he didn't lose it, Finnick turned around and felt his jaw drop.

_This_ was certainly the biggest parcel so far. It was almost as long as he was tall. Feeling like a child on Christmas morning, he grabbed the box and forced it open, excited and slightly giddy.

As he reached into the box, hands wrapping around the handle of the stunningly silver trident within, Finnick finally understood why the tributes from 1 smiled at each-other the way they did.

This. This was what power felt like.

* * *

Night rolled around and they still hadn't found the boy from District 5. District 2 claimed the first watch, the other four tributes unrolling their sleeping bags and curling up to sleep for the night.

Finnick kept his trident beside him, one arm lying over it so that if anyone tried to move it he would know and have chance to act.

Once again, he could not sleep.

A wolf howled somewhere in the distance. Beside Finnick, Shine bolted upright, awoken by the din.

Finnick shifted so that his hand was wrapped around the hilt of the trident. He had a feeling that this year's 'epic finale' was about to come into play.

Somebody screamed. It didn't sound like it was close; it couldn't possibly be one of his fellow Careers.

Marisol climbed up on her feet and began to fight with her sleeping bag, trying to wrestle it off so that she was free to move should she have to; to run, to fight.

A cannon fired.

"Was that…?" Nona's voice trailed off, the sentence left unfinished, though they all knew how she meant to end it: the boy from 5. And yes, yes it must've been, for in the darkness Finnick could just about make out the five faces that had become so familiar over the past nine days.

Just like that, any ties to their alliance were cut. It wasn't even District against District; it was tribute against tribute. There were no allies anymore, only obstacles blocking the way out.

Shimmer crawled out of her sleeping bag and fumbled about under her pillow, retrieving the knife that she kept there. Whirling around, she threw it at Clarus, impaling him in the eye. Cursing, the boy from 2 stumbled backwards, where Nona was waiting. She struck him from behind with a spear, which went right through his stomach and came out the other end, dripping with blood and some sort of gunk that Finnick didn't think he wanted to be able to put a name to.

Nona didn't bother to retrieve her spear, and Clarus collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath and struggling to tug the weapon out of his body with his suddenly clumsy hands.

Shimmer dashed over and pulled her knife from his eye socket, sighing and wiping it clean on the fabric of her t-shirt as though it was stained by chocolate spread or margarine and not a dying person's blood, not the jelly from someone's eye.

Finnick stood, trident in hand, and waited for anybody to _dare_ challenge him. Shine was bold enough to try, leaping over the discarded sleeping bags and yanking the spear out of Clarus. The boy from 2 took one last, shuddering gasp for air and fell face-first to the floor.

His cannon thundered somewhere above them.

Turning, the boy from 1 charged at Finnick with the spear. Using the prongs of his trident to catch the spear's tip before it ever touched him, Finnick lifted the weapon up out of the way and used it to tug the boy from 1 closer to him.

Their faces only inches apart, Finnick wasn't sure what to do now; both of their weapons were locked above their heads, and he wasn't sure how he could use either of them.

Out of nowhere, a pair of hands rested themselves upon Shine's shoulders and began tugging him backwards. His grip on the spear fell loose. Finnick knew he had to think fast. Shaking the spear away from his trident so that it landed upon the floor with a soft pattering sound, he struck Shine in the stomach. Twisting the weapon slightly in the hopes that it might make the boy's death a bit quicker, Finnick yanked his trident out of Shine.

Far more entrails came with it than Finnick had been expecting, but to his credit Shine died more or less immediately; a stark contrast to Clarus before him.

Marisol stood behind him, her hands shaking but still held in front of her, at the point where Shine's shoulders had been just seconds before.

Part of him wanted to yell at her, remind her that this was the finale, that they weren't working together now, that she shouldn't be helping him because only one of them could win and he sure as hell wanted to see his family again.

He listened to the other part, though, and thanked her. After all, she could've just as easily pulled him away from Shine. It could just as easily have been him lying dead on the floor.

Meanwhile, Nona and Shimmer had fallen into their own fight. Shimmer kept trying to get at Nona with her knife, but the girl from 2 had a firm grip on her wrist which seemed to prevent the weapon from ever getting close enough.

Apparently noticing the spear upon the floor, Nona used her free hand to lunge for it. Before her fingers could reach it, Shimmer stabbed, however she missed anything vital and buried the blade of her knife in Nona's arm.

"You bitch!" The girl from 2 screamed, slapping Shimmer so hard around the face that Finnick could almost feel it himself. He winced on her behalf.

Whilst her opponent was stunned, Nona grabbed the spear and hopped back a few steps, taking a run up and impaling Shimmer in much the same way she did Clarus. This time, however, she yanked it out almost immediately after.

Shimmer's cannon sounded.

Nona stood there looking proud of herself for a few seconds, before apparently remembering that she was not quite the last one standing. Not yet.

By this point, Finnick had snuck behind her and positioned his trident.

Nona looked at the spot where he had been standing before. She whirled around to meet his gaze, her brow furrowed in confusion.

He shoved the prongs of his trident into her stomach before she had chance to do anything to him.

As he did with Shine, Finnick made sure to wriggle the trident around a little bit in the hope that it'd hasten her death and ensure minimal suffering on her part.

Unlike with Shine, Nona's cannon sounded before he'd even had chance to wrench the trident out of her.

A rivulet of sweat ran down his nose. Finnick reached up and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, only now realising how tired this whole ordeal had made him.

As he lowered his hand, his caught sight of a pair of wide blue eyes. Little Marisol stood right where he left her, the corpse of Shine lying at her feet.

She stared at him, wordlessly, her face drawn and uncharacteristically pale. The last obstacle left between him and going home.

Finnick thought she must've known what he was going to do before he did it.

"I'm so sorry." He told her, like it might've done something to soothe her. "But there can only be one winner, right?"

She nodded in understanding, the few curls left in her otherwise straight hair bouncing in so cheerful a manner that they didn't seem to belong there at all.

He made it as quick as he could for her; he stabbed her in the neck, knowing that it would kill her more or less immediately.

* * *

Annie held Paws so tightly it was a wonder that he hadn't clawed her face off yet. She wondered if he somehow understood how utterly broken she felt, if he didn't want to add to the pain she was already experiencing.

Beside her, Julien sat with a box of tissues. Occasionally, he would reach over and mop up the tear tracks staining her cheeks. Their mother had to bring her dinner to her that evening, and her brother had to coax her into eating it. She didn't feel like eating. The prospect of eating just made her want to throw up.

He _promised_.

* * *

**I promise Annie's Games will be longer. It's just that this is more _her_ story at the moment than it is Finnick's, _her_ descent into 'madness', and Marisol's death was really just a chapter of that story. An incredibly important chapter, but just a chapter. More than just a chapter in Finnick's story, since he'll have to live with the guilt now... But, like I said, this is mostly Annie's story.**

**And seriously, if I freaked anyone out with the violence, or if you think I should up the rating, let me know! It just sort of appeared without me really thinking about it and afterward I was like "Woah, where did you come from, Slightly Disturbing Violence?"**


	5. An Annual Tradition

**Okay, now this one's the longest chapter so far. Definitely.**

* * *

The whole District gathered in the Town Square for Marisol's funeral.

Annie stood with her family, holding her brother's hand so tightly that she suspected she was giving him pins-and-needles. He wasn't complaining though, so she didn't let go.

Marisol's parents were asked to give a speech which told of how proud they were of their daughter's courage and sacrifice. They stood so close together that it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began, their bodies a single mass of solid black fabric. Mr Lean's arm was around his wife's shoulders, hers around his waist, the hands of their opposite arms clutching each-other like a lifeline. It was obvious that this was not a speech they'd written. It scarcely mentioned the way Marisol had been before, only how beautiful and brave she had been throughout her time in the Capitol.

Somehow, Marisol's parents managed to walk off the stage without letting go of each-other, and became lost in the sea of black that filled the Square in front of it.

Finnick also gave a speech, which Annie resented immensely. He'd only ever known Marisol, spoken to her, paid any attention to her whatsoever when they were both sent off to the Hunger Games. He hadn't been acquainted with her long enough to merit giving a speech at her funeral, in Annie's mind.

Still, there wasn't very much she could do. She simply squeezed Julien's hand even tighter and glared up at the boy who'd murdered her best friend, as he gave a speech that seemed suspiciously similar to the one her parents had just relayed.

* * *

Though she yanked her hair out of the bun she'd hoisted it up into the first chance she got, Annie did not bother to get changed. Her knee-length black dress remained on as she lay sprawled across the living room carpet, having a staring contest with Paws.

"I'm going out." Julien said, stepping over her in pursuit of the door. "_Not_ to the training centre, so don't come looking for me this time."

Annie smiled at that, though she did not look away from her tabby cat's familiar green eyes.

She heard the door open.

"Woah, shit." Julien cursed from the hallway. "What're you doing here?"

"I was literally just about to knock," Said a voice that made Annie wish she was not having a staring contest with the cat, purely so that she could bury her face in the carpet. "Is your sister in?"

"Uh…" She heard Julien hesitate. "No." The fact that he was willing to lie for her made her more proud than it perhaps should have done.

"You hesitated."

He must've pushed past her brother, for the next thing Annie heard was Julien calling, "If you upset her in _any_ way, I will make you regret it. Victor or not, _no-one_ makes my baby sister cry."

The door slammed shut, signalling Julien's departure.

Paws jumped up and darted from the room. Deciding that she must've therefore won their competition, Annie sat up and watched as her cat squeezed through the legs of the boy standing in the doorway.

Finnick offered her an apologetic smile. He held in front of him what appeared to be a picnic basket. The black suit he wore at Marisol's funeral had been swapped for green shorts and an old blue t-shirt that looked like it had seen better days.

"You busy?" He asked.

"As a matter of fact," Annie replied, crossing her arms across her chest. "I am."

He raised an eyebrow. "It looks like it," He said sarcastically.

"I really don't feel like talking to anyone right now." Annie insisted, "Least of all you."

"Ouch." Finnick removed one hand from the handle of his basket, placing it over his heart and feigning injury.

Annie rolled her eyes at him and flopped backwards, lying sprawled out on the burgundy carpet like a starfish.

"Look, little girl," He said tiredly. Annie closed her eyes and remembered that she'd never actually told him her name. Apparently, Marisol hadn't either; or if she had, Finnick had failed to put two and two together. "I'm not expecting you to like me. If I were you, I'd hate me too. I just want a chance to explain why I did it. You don't have to forgive me. Heck_, I_ wouldn't. Just hear me out. Can you do that?"

Annie thought about it for a moment before opening her eyes and sitting up once again.

"A picnic basket?" She asked sceptically.

Finnick grinned. "I figured we could go sit on the beach."

* * *

He led her down to the Strand. Since it was where he grew up, Annie figured that the strictly work-related beaches down there were the ones Finnick was probably more familiar with.

However, once they'd reached the shore he did not stop walking. Instead, he took her down the endless stretch of sand, stopping only when they reached a particularly ragged-looking cliff.

"Hold this." Finnick instructed, turning around to face her for the first time since they'd left her house and all but throwing his picnic basket at her.

Annie just about managed to catch it. She watched as he scaled the face of the cliff with the skill of someone who had done so a million times.

"Okay, now pass it up here." He said, lying flat on the top of the cliff and reaching towards her.

Annie stood on tiptoe and raised the basket above her head. When she was certain that he'd grabbed hold of it, she lowered her arms and fell back down to her normal height.

"Are you gonna be alright or do you want me to come down and help you?" Finnick called.

Annie studied the cliff face, already looking for handholds and footholds that she could use to scale it.

"I'll be fine." She insisted.

"It's just I don't want you tearing that pretty little dress of yours." He continued. "Your brother has already issued me one death threat today. I'd like to avoid earning any more, if that's okay with you."

"I'll be _fine_." Annie repeated, this time a little more forcefully.

She took a step towards the cliff face and grabbed one of the handholds she had spotted during her examination a minute or so before. Her other hand went to another, a little further up. She lifted her foot and wedged the toe of her shiny black shoe into a crevice low down on the cliff's face, inwardly grimacing when she thought of how mad her parents would be when they saw she'd scuffed the polish of a pair she'd had little over twenty four hours.

Cautiously, and much more slowly than Finnick before her, Annie made her way up the cliff face.

Finnick was waiting patiently at the top. He held a hand out to help her, but she pretended not to notice it and hauled herself up over the edge of the cliff, lying ungracefully on the sparse grass that grew there.

"Come on." Finnick said, picking up the basket and leaping to his feet. "We're nearly there."

Annie fought the temptation to groan and hauled herself up onto her feet, traipsing along the cliff top after her best friend's murderer.

There was no more climbing on the way to Finnick's picnic spot, much to Annie's relief. For a short while, all she had to do was follow him along the top of the cliff.

That was, until he turned and handed her the basket once again- this time without warning.

"Pass it to me in a sec." He instructed, jumping off of the cliff's edge.

Annie hurried over, her toes curling in her shoes as she noticed just how close to the cliff's edge she'd come. Raising one hand from the basket's woven handle, she shielded her eyes against the glare of the sun against the sea's water. For one strange and terrible moment, Annie thought that he had taken her here to watch him die.

"Down here." Finnick stepped out from beneath a rocky ledge that had shielded him from her view. "Toss the basket down. There's nothing fragile in there; it should be fine."

Annie threw the basket at him and feigned innocence when he complained about how that was the second time he had been thwacked in the head that day.

"Jump," Finnick said, once he'd recovered from the shock of having a picnic basket bounce off of his head. "It'll be fine."

"I'm sorry," Annie replied curtly, "But my parents warned me against jumping off of cliffs."

"I'll catch you." He offered, holding his arms out towards her and beckoning with a finger.

She narrowed her eyes at him and sat down on the edge of the cliff, her legs dangling over the edge. Closing her eyes and muttering a prayer under her breath, she pushed off with her hands.

The drop was not as far as it had looked, and Annie landed on her knees in the soft golden sand a second or so later.

Looking around her, she began to realise just why Finnick had been so adamant that they make the trek here; it was rather beautiful.

Parts of the cliff had fallen in to her right, separating this stretch of shore from the rest. To her left, the beach was partially cut off by a section of rock that jutted out from the cliff face, leaving a slither of land between it and the sea. The sand was gold with flecks of brown, littered with shells that no-one had come to collect so that they could make them into jewellery or use them as decoration somewhere. The sea lapped at the shoreline, gentle and tentative.

It was a secluded, secret paradise of a place. Annie couldn't help but wonder why he'd bring her here.

"I found this place by accident when I was little." Finnick told her, gazing about him in wonder, as though the place could never cease to amaze him. "I was trying to get out of doing the dishes."

"Did it work?" Annie found herself asking.

He turned to grin at her, "Do you really need to ask?"

Forgetting that she was very angry with him, Annie laughed. It lasted only a second, thought, and then she folded her arms and scowled at him.

Finnick cleared his throat and opened his picnic basket, retrieving a tatty tartan blanket. He laid it flat on the sand and sat down upon it, lifting the basket and placing it beside him.

"Come, little girl," He said. "Sit with me."

Annie eyed him suspiciously and sat down as far away from him as she could whilst still remaining upon the mat.

"It's Annie." She blurted out. Realising how random her comment probably sounded, she hastily tried to explain herself; "My name, that is, by the way. It's-"

"Annie?" He finished for her, looking up at her as he removed the lid from a plastic box of sandwiches. The scent of tuna hit her nostrils almost immediately.

She nodded and thought about how her 'explanation' probably just made her point more confusing.

"Help yourself to a sandwich, then, Annie." Finnick said, waving his hand in the direction of the box. "I hope you like tuna."

"I do." She confirmed, though she made no move to take one of the neat little triangular sandwiches from the box.

Finnick studied her for a moment, evidently confused, before realisation seemed to dawn upon his face. He laughed for a good few minutes.

"I haven't poisoned them." He insisted. "I promise."

"Your promises aren't worth a thing, Finnick." Annie grumbled, though she picked up a sandwich and nibbled at the corner anyway. She hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, which had been early so that she could be sure of arriving at the Town Square in time for Marisol's funeral.

He reached into the picnic basket beside him and retrieved another box, which he opened to reveal yet more sandwiches cut neatly into triangles. However, the scent of tuna did not seem to emanate from this one, as it had with the first.

"Sugar sandwich?" He held the box out to her.

Annie wrinkled her nose and took another nibble of the tuna one in her hand.

"Suit yourself." Finnick shrugged, placing the box in his lap and taking a bite out of one of the sandwiches from within it, "More for me."

They ate in silence for a while.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Annie said once she had finished her sandwich, reaching over to take another from the box, "Eating lunch with my best friend's killer. She'd be so mad at me."

She looked up at Finnick, who stared thoughtfully a point just beside her shoulder for a few seconds before meeting her eyes.

"No," He assured her. "I think she'd understand. She'd do the same if your roles were reversed."

Annie narrowed her eyes at him. "You didn't know her like I did."

"True." Finnick agreed, "But it some ways, I think I knew her better. A life or death situation will do that to people; it brings out their true colours."

Though she wanted to snap at him, Annie forced herself into silence by taking a rather large bite of her sandwich and having to spend a while concentrating on chewing it so as to keep herself from choking.

"Her colour would be yellow, I think." Finnick said thoughtfully. "She was so bright, so young, so innocent." He looked over at Annie. "Sorry, you probably don't want me to talk about her, do you?"

"No, it's alright." Annie said once she had managed to swallow her mouthful of tuna sandwich. "I think she'd be yellow, too."

Finnick smiled; not a grin, but a sad sort of smile that Annie did not think suited him at all. It looked like it belonged upon the face of an old man, one who had survived a war but was still plagued by the memories fifty years on. It did not suit that of a fourteen year old boy.

"You said you'd tell me why." Annie reminded him.

The way he winced almost made her regret it, but not quite. Annie Cresta was curious by nature, and she wanted to know what had compelled him to kill so mercilessly. She wanted to know why he'd murdered her best friend.

"It'll probably help." Finnick agreed reluctantly. "Ma always said that telling people helps. I'm just afraid that if I tell anyone, they'll see me as this… this _monster_." He gave Annie that sad, sad smile once again. "But you already see me as some sort of monster, so I can't really go wrong with you."

Annie didn't correct him, mostly because he was right. Popping the last piece of sandwich in her mouth, she dusted the crumbs of bread from her lap and listened intently.

* * *

Annie wore the same dress to the funeral of the next year's tributes. Whilst her best friend merited the buying of a new dress, the hassle of having her mother hold them up to her and put them back again repeatedly, these two poor souls did not.

She felt bad for thinking it, guilty and horrid, like some terrible beast of a girl. Yet she could not stop her thoughts once they had happened, and she did not have the patience to go shopping for black dresses annually.

That year, she got changed as soon as she arrived home; her black dress reminded her too much of death, and she did not want to wallow in that as much as she had after Marisol's passing. With her best friend, she had felt as though dwelling on the matter for a while might somehow magically ease the pain. She'd not really known either of the two tribute's reaped for the 66th Hunger Games.

Still, she made a point of putting on the most bright, cheerful dress she could find in her wardrobe that day: yellow with green flowers scattered about the fabric and a skirt that flew upwards if she spun around too fast.

The knock at the door came while she was engrossed in a book. Julien was out, her father manning the family jewellers a few streets away and her mother cooking dinner in the kitchen.

Setting her book down, the thirteen year old girl headed for the door.

Finnick stood on the porch outside. This year, it was he who had not gotten changed, his black suit looking a little dishevelled.

He grinned at her and held up his picnic basket.

"I thought we could make a tradition of it." He explained.

Though she'd not really spoken to him for a year, aside from the usual 'hellos' and 'how are yous' that one was expected to give an acquaintance, for some reason Annie felt inclined to accept.

"I'm going out, Mum!" She called over her shoulder.

"Be back before dark!" Came the response.

Finnick had already started down the porch steps. Annie pulled the door shut and hurried after him.

* * *

His sixteenth birthday fell upon the penultimate day of that year's Victory Tour. Though the victor that year was not his own, but rather the bitter little minx who had killed her in her sleep, Finnick was surprised when an invitation to the Victory Dinner fell through his letterbox.

Never one to bother his family with what he referred to as 'victor business', he slotted the piece of paper back into its envelope and took it next-door, to Mags' house.

He had to ring the doorbell a few times before she answered. Her hearing was not as brilliant as it once had been, and when she was at the back of the house (as she often was, since that was where her library was situated) it usually took a while for her to notice that there was someone at the door.

"Mags, look!" Finnick said, handing her the envelope.

His elderly mentor took one look at the cracked Capitol seal that had been holding the envelope shut. Motioning for Finnick to enter the house, she shut the door and led him through to the kitchen.

Since she lived all alone, Mags did not have a dining room, though all the victor's houses in District 4 had the same basic layout. She ate at a small table in the corner of her kitchen, around which sat three chairs. Hers was always the one facing the window, so that she could look out at her garden whilst she ate breakfast. Finnick's was the one directly opposite. The third was saved for other guests and visiting friends, not that she'd had many of those in recent years.

The room that would otherwise be her dining room had been transformed into a library. The table and chairs within it had been used to make shelves for her books, of which there were many; she'd had over seventy years to build up her collection, after all. A cushioned rocking chair sat in one corner, a blanket draped over the back so that she could snuggle up beneath it with a good story when winter rolled around.

Mags and Finnick took their respective chairs at her kitchen table automatically. He watched as she flipped the flap of the envelope open and tugged the invitation out.

Whilst her long distance vision was not fantastic, Mags was by no means short-sighted. Her eyes scanned the page in front of her speedily, reaching President Snow's signature at the end. She lowered her hands to rest upon the tabletop, so as to calm the shaking.

"It struck me as a little odd." Finnick explained, noticing that she'd finished reading the letter. "You know, since neither of our tributes won this year."

He paused for a moment, composing himself. The pain of losing someone you'd promised to try and help survive was no less agonising than it had been the year before, when Finnick had first been asked to mentor.

"Still," He said brightly, smacking his hands against the tabletop and making Mags jump. "Free food is always a good thing, right?"

When Mags didn't respond, Finnick leant forward slightly.

"Mags," He said, much more tentatively than before. "Are you alright?"

She looked up at him and smiled weakly.

"I'm fine." She assured him, though she certainly did not look it. Somehow, she looked even more pale and fragile than usual. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Um, yeah, sure," Finnick said, a little put off by the sudden change of subject. "The usual, if you don't mind."

Mags got up from her place and moved across the kitchen, flicking the electric kettle on and removing two cups from the cupboard.

Feeling bad, though he wasn't entirely sure what he'd done, Finnick stood up and went to help her, retrieving the milk jug from its shelf in the fridge for her.

The letter lay upon the table, temporarily forgotten.

* * *

The funeral for the tributes of the 69th Hunger Games rolled around. Finnick stood with the other victors at the back of the stage, between Mags and Musa. The former glanced at him every so often and smiled reassuringly. He returned the sentiment without hesitation. Musa stood tall and rigid, staring out at the horizon and betraying to emotion. The Capitol called him 'the Statue', so famous had he become for his blank expression.

From the time they'd spent together, first with his own Hunger Games and then as mentors together, Finnick knew that this was only true of Musa when he was in front of the cameras. He'd been amazed at first when the man famed for feeling nothing had picked Marisol up and lifted her into the air, spinning around and around and laughing when she giggled, upon hearing her training score.

He was emotionless in public. Behind closed doors, he was another man entirely.

With no District 4 victor that year, the mayor gave the speech that followed that of the tributes' families. It was the same as the one read out every year; Finnick himself had said more or less the same words four years previously. Only the names had changed; Denise and Coby, instead of Marisol Lean.

Afterward, Finnick said goodbye to Mags and flirted with more cameras than he cared to admit. Whilst it had once felt weird hitting on an inanimate object, he knew that his 'fans' up in the Capitol would probably be swooning. It was a technique he'd learnt quite by accident, having watched a rerun of himself whilst channel flicking; flirt with the camera, and it looks like you're flirting with the viewers.

The Capitol loved it, and if that's what it took to keep them away from his family, so be it.

As he made his way home, Finnick conversed with anyone who shoved a microphone in his face and winked at every camera he caught trained upon him. Gradually, the number of people rushing to catch him died down.

Once he'd reached his house up in Victor's Village, he stood on the doorstep and waved charmingly at the lone cameraman who had followed him all the way there. Blowing one last kiss into the camera's lens, Finnick turned and entered his house. He twisted the lock quickly and proceeded to remove his shirt. God, how he hated it; it was so low-cut he could feel goose bumps forming on his chest.

"Finnie!"

A pair of small arms wrapped themselves around Finnick's leg. He laughed and ruffled the hair of his five year old brother.

"Hey, James," He said, scooping the boy up and carrying him through to the living room. Sandra lay sprawled across the sofa, her attention consumed by yet another book.

Their mother emerged from the garden, a basket of freshly dried washing balanced upon her hip.

"The phone rang while you were out." She told Finnick.

He stopped pulling silly faces to make his brother laugh and looked across the room at his mother.

"It did?" He asked, setting James down on the floor but not once taking his gaze from her. "Do you know who it was?"

"Aelia or something," Mrs Odair replied, putting her wash basket down on the arm of the sofa so that she had both arms free to catch little James when he threw himself at her. "She left a message."

Finnick screwed up his nose and headed for the phone.

"Can you prep a picnic basket for me?" He called as his mother and baby brother disappeared into the kitchen.

She didn't reply, but he knew the answer was probably 'yes' anyway.

His mother had been close; the name of the caller was actually 'Aeliana'. She was a frequent customer of his, styling herself 'your biggest fan'. Finnick, as embarrassed as he was to admit it, would recognise that screech of a voice anywhere.

"I've been talking with President Snow," Her recorded message explained, "And he said you're free tonight. So I just _had_ to book you. But then I remembered that the funeral thingy was today and, like, you _have_ to go to that. Duh! You're a _mentor_! But then I figured that if you left, like, the second you got in, you could probably get to the Capitol by midnight. You know where my house is, Finnickins. I'll see you later."

Finnick had not realised just how tightly he had screwed his nose up until the message ended and he noticed how much it ached.

Glancing at the clock, he did a quick sum on his fingers and saw that Aeliana was right; if he left now, he should make it to the Capitol by midnight. Just about.

Yet he felt as though he couldn't go today, of all days. He had a tradition to uphold. Funeral day was the only chance he got to talk to Annie Cresta all year, especially now, what with all of this 'business' Snow had him attending to. Though he wouldn't call her a friend, for friends must surely talk more often than once a year, he liked their annual picnics. Especially in recent years, since it have him the chance to relive the little boy he had been, to abandon 'Finnick the sex god' and become just plain old 'Finn' once again.

Besides, Annie was quite stubborn. He'd only really managed to get her to start talking to him- _really_ talking to him- two years ago. If she felt he'd forsaken her for a night of frivolities in the Capitol, he'd be right back to square one again.

And he _needed_ this annual tradition of theirs. He needed the chance to be himself again.

Mind made up, he dashed upstairs to go put on something more suitable for rock-climbing before taking the picnic basket his mother had so kindly prepared from the table and sprinting out the door.

* * *

**Next chapter should see Annie's reaping, and therefore the end of all this time-jumping I've been doing the last few chapters.**


	6. The Only Annie Cresta

**Gosh, wow! The amount of attention this has garnered in the last week! I just... Wow... A massive thank you to anyone who has favourited or followed or reviewed, or even just taken the time to read this. I'm really grateful :)**

* * *

Mr Cresta was perched on the edge of the sofa, his daughter sat cross-legged by his feet. Though she was more than capable of fixing up her own hair, she liked it better when her father could find the time to do it for her. Something about the way he'd gently run the brush through her hair without tugging even a little was incredibly relaxing for her.

"Can you put it up, Daddy?" Annie asked as her father brushed her copper-brown hair. "It's hot today and I don't like it sticking to my neck."

Mr Cresta did not reply, but she felt him twirling her hair around and around, in on itself, at the back of her head.

"Hold that there." He said.

Only once Annie's hand had reached around to hold the bun of hair against the back of head did her father release it. She moved her fingers out of the way as best she could without letting go of her hair so that he could secure it with a length of green ribbon.

Julien emerged from the hallway, his hands behind his back as he struggled to tuck his cream ruffle shirt into the waistline of his trousers.

"You _do_ realise it's already nine o'clock." He told his father and sister. "Annie needs to be there by half past."

The dark-haired girl jumped to her feet and turned to wrap her arms around her father. Mr Cresta hugged her back, kissing the crown of her head as she released him and went off in search of her shoes.

"I'll walk her up to the Square." Julien assured their father. "We'll meet you and mum outside the bakery afterwards."

Mr Cresta nodded and raised a hand to massage the pain that had formed in the bridge of his nose.

"Hey," Julien said, finally succeeding at tucking his shirt in right the way around and taking a step toward his father. "It'll be fine. She's never taken out tesserae; her name is only in there, what, twenty eight times?"

His father stiffened slightly.

"That's nothing." Julien said hastily. "There are people with twice as many slips as Annie. She'll be fine."

Before Mr Odesta had chance to reply, his daughter poked her head around the door and looked at her brother.

"Julien," She scolded. "You say we're going to be late, yet here you are chatting."

The dark-haired boy grinned and mouthed 'She'll be fine' at their father before heading for the door, grabbing his sister's hand as he walked past and tugging her along with him.

They walked all the way hand-in-hand. Annie only let go when they reached the Town Square, and even then she didn't so much as glance at the queue of girls already signing in for the Reaping.

"I'll come find you afterwards, alright?" Julien assured her. He ruffled the top of her head, messing up the neat bun that her father had pulled it into and pulling a few strands free to fall in her face.

Annie glared at him and tucked the loose tendrils behind her ear. She made no motion to go join the end of the girls' line a little way away.

"Tell you what," Her brother said thoughtfully. "After the Reaping, we'll go buy a bag of jelly beans from the sweet shop, and we'll go eat them on the beach."

Annie smiled. Jelly beans were her favourite food in the world, particularly the off-white coconut flavoured ones. Since Julien absolutely despised the taste of coconut, it meant that they could share a bag without arguing as he'd just leave all of the slightly off-white beans for her, and she'd leave the red cinnamon-flavoured ones (which had too intense a taste for her to enjoy) for him. They were his favourite.

"It's a deal." Annie agreed to the plan, taking her brother's hand and shaking it.

Julien tore his hand away from hers and glanced at the line of shrinking line of teenage girls.

"You really need to go." He told his sister solemnly.

Annie nodded and threw her arms around him, giving him one last quick hug before releasing him and jogging over to join the end of the queue.

* * *

Finnick and Mags stood side by side on the stage that had been set up outside the Justice Building. As the mentors for the Games that year, they were obligated to be onstage during the Reaping. The other past tributes from District 4 were in amongst the rest of the population too old to be reaped, watching the event and pretending it didn't horrify them at all.

Thalia Whishart sprinted up the steps in six inch heels, somehow without stumbling or twisting her ankle. Finnick stared at her feet, slightly confused about how she could walk when those golden shoes looked far from comfortable. Mags elbowed him and met his questioning eyebrow quirk with a roll of her eyes.

Oblivious, Thalia headed over to them and beamed.

"Well, if it isn't Mr Odair himself." She said.

Finnick laughed cheerfully. "Thalia Whishart," He said, taking her silver-gloved hand and kissing her knuckles. "It's been too long."

"I've been seeing your face _everywhere_ recently." The Capitol woman informed him. "My friend Donna was talking about you the other day. She said you'd spent the night with her."

"Ah, yes," Finnick pretended to know who she was talking about. Bar a few customers, they all tended to merge together after a while, "I remember Donna."

"I told her that you were my tribute." Thalia said proudly, wriggling her shoulders a little, like a bird might ruffle its feathers. "You were my first victor, you know."

He grinned. "It's an honour, then, Miss Whishart."

"I just look at you and see that polite little boy who volunteered five years ago." She explained, removing a handkerchief from the copper-coloured handbag slung over one shoulder and dabbing at the corners of her eyes. "And now I'm seeing topless pictures of you in magazines. Gosh, you've just grown up so _fast_, Finnick."

"Tell me about it." Finnick grumbled, earning himself another pointed shove from Mags. This one was not so light-hearted as the first, though.

Luckily, Thalia Whishart did not seem to hear him. Her attention was now focused upon the Head Peacekeeper, who was making his way up the stairs towards them.

"Ah, Lucius," She greeted him like an old friend, air-kissing the space either side of his head before trotting a few steps back and away from him in those ridiculously high heels of hers.

His cheeks tinged with pink, the Head Peacekeeper cleared his throat.

"That's all of them." He informed her, refering to the potential tributes herded into their genders and age brackets. "The camera guy said to let you know that he's ready whenever you are."

"Thank you, Lucius." Thalia smiled gratefully with lips painted a metallic red colour. "You may tell him that I will start once I have returned my handkerchief to my bag."

The Head Peacekeeper nodded once, sharply, and turned to run off of the stage as fast as was humanly possible.

Thalia waved, though his back was turned and he did not see, before turning to put her handkerchief back into her copper handbag.

"Mags, dear," She said.

The elderly victor halted in conversation with Finnick and turned to face the Capitol woman coming so precariously toward them in those enormous heels of hers.

"Could you look after my bag?" Thalia asked, holding it out to her.

Mags took the small copper-coloured handbag and smiled politely.

"Of course I can." She confirmed.

Thalia smiled back brightly and turned to hurry toward the microphone.

* * *

Considering how many seventeen year old girls were within this small area, fenced off from the eighteen year olds and the sixteen year olds by cheap rope fencing, Annie thought that she was doing a rather good job of avoiding people.

Ever since Marisol left for the Capitol and didn't come back, Annie had struggled to make any more friends. The pitying looks that the other people in her class at school had directed at her in the weeks following the end of the 65th Hunger Games had soon disappeared, replaced with… nothing. They paid her no attention at all.

Annie didn't want their attention. Being ignored had hurt at first, but she'd learnt to live with it. Now she couldn't see it any other way.

As Thalia Whishart stepped up to the microphone and called for silence, Annie found herself extremely grateful that it was cloudy that day. Had the sun been out, the sheer shininess of the escort's attire would probably have blinded the entire population of District 4.

"If you would please look at one of the enormous screeny-things situated either side of you," Thalia Whishart instructed, "We shall begin as we always do."

Annie chose to watch the screen situated to the left of her, as the one on the right of the Square was more or less directly above her; she'd probably strain her neck if she tried to look at it.

"War," The speakers around the square boomed. A few girls standing nearby jumped a little, even though they must've known it was coming. It happened every year, after all. "Terrible war,"

Once the video had finished, everyone's attention returned to the Capitol woman who stood on the stage outside the Justice Building.

"Now," Thalia Whishart said into the microphone, "The old tradition is that the ladies go first, and who are we to deny tradition?"

Merrily, she scurried across the stage in her heels as easily as if they were flat shoes and examined the fishbowl that contained the names of all the girls of reaping age in District 4.

After giving it some obvious thought, chewing the inside of her cheek for concentration, Thalia's fingers pinched the slip on the very top of the bowl of names.

Waving the slip of folded paper at the nearest camera, Thalia headed back up to her microphone and cracked the seal with a manicured fingernail.

"Annie Cresta," She read into the microphone.

The sea of girls around her began to part as Annie stared up at the metallic woman on stage, eyes wide.

There had to be another Annie Cresta, she decided. There had to be. She waited patiently for this other Annie Cresta to head up onto the stage.

But she didn't, and Annie felt someone tapping her shoulder.

"It's you," whispered Clora, a girl with strawberry-blonde hair who she knew from school. Over her shoulder, Annie could see her friends mumbling to each-other.

"Okay," Annie replied quietly, because she wasn't really sure what else she could say.

Clora offered her a slight smile and stepped out of the way so that Annie could walk past her, to the aisle that led up to the stage and separated the boys from the girls.

Annie was relatively surprised when she reached the bottom of the steps without falling over. Clumsy as she was, she had expected herself to mess up on her way there. Allowing a small, proud smile to flash across her face, just briefly, she began to make her way up the rickety wooden steps and onto the stage.

They were much steeper than they looked, she found, and different sizes. Three steps from the top, she raised her foot higher than she needed to and toppled forward when there was no stair to catch her.

Though nobody laughed, Annie still felt incredibly embarrassed. Cheeks flushed scarlet, she made her way over to Thalia Whishart, trying to ignore the pain in her knee where she'd bashed it on the step.

"That was a rather spectacular entrance, Miss Cresta." The escort told her.

Though Annie knew she probably meant it to ease her nerves, it only served to heighten her embarrassment. Unsure of what she should do, Annie just offered a weak smile and shuffled her feet slightly.

Apparently sensing that she wasn't going to get much out of the girl by way of conversation, Thalia turned back to the crowd and asked if there were any volunteers.

Annie found herself crossing her fingers behind her back and hoping there was a girl who had been training in the Gymnasium and was now ready to enter the Games.

There was, apparently, no such girl. Just as there was no other Annie Cresta.

"Well then," Thalia Whishart said. She turned to face Annie, though she spoke into the microphone so that all of Panem could hear her, "Let's go find out who your District partner is."

Excited, Thalia dashed around her and up to the Reaping ball containing the boys' names. Annie was, not for the first time, incredibly grateful that Julien was too old to be called. If her brother was Reaped alongside her, she wasn't sure what she would do.

As before, Thalia plucked the very topmost slip of paper from the bowl and waved it at the camera dramatically before taking it back to the microphone.

Annie watched over her shoulder as she cracked the little wax seal securing the slip of paper shut and unfolded it.

"Morris Denzel," She said into the microphone.

It was not a name Annie recognised. The dark-haired girl scanned the crowd gathered before the stage with the Capitol escort beside her, searching for the boy who would be journeying with her to the Capitol.

"I volunteer!" A voice rang out, frantic. "I volunteer!"

Someone who looked to be around Julien's age pushed to the front of the area where those not eligible for the reaping were gathered. He leaned against the flimsy fence separating the little children and the adults from those aged between twelve and eighteen.

"I volunteer!" He shouted again, this time slightly breathless.

"Why sir!" Thalia said to him through her microphone. Her voice echoed throughout the square. "You're too old to volunteer, aren't you?"

"Only by a month!" He insisted. "I turned nineteen a month ago."

"But still," Thalia Whishart put a hand on her hip and sent him a look that one might direct at a naughty child who had been caught stealing from the biscuit tin. "That's one month too old, isn't it?"

"No!" The young man yelled in response. "Please, let me go! He's just a kid, he's not-"

The nearest Peacekeeper smacked him around the head with his baton before he had chance to continue. As a trio of uniformed men carried his unconscious form away, Thalia addressed the crowd and ensured that their attention was upon her.

But Annie was not in the crowd, and her eyes followed as they took the man out of the Square. There wasn't any blood, she noticed, and he appeared to be breathing still.

"Morris, love," Thalia cooed into the microphone. "Come on up here. We won't bite."

_No,_ Annie thought. _We're just going to send you to an arena with twenty-three other children so that you can participate in a gruesome, televised fight to the death. That's all._

Near the back, a young boy stumbled out into the aisle. He straightened up and turned to glare at whoever had pushed him before setting his sights on the stage.

As he made his way over, Annie couldn't help but notice how young he was; young and so very fragile.

He stood next to her once he'd reached the stage, rather than on the other side of Thalia as was the tradition. Every so often, he'd glance around Annie at Thalia with wide, frightened eyes. It was as though he truly did think that she might bite him.

"Gosh," Thalia gushed at the little boy. "You're adorable! You're like a little cherub, with your blonde curls and your big blue eyes! Oh my gosh, the Capitol are just going to _love_ you!"

The boy, Morris, stared at his feet and wrapped his arms around himself timidly.

Sighing tiredly at the antics (or lack thereof) of her tributes that year, Thalia Whishart requested that Annie and Morris shake hands.

It was the first time the little boy had looked at Annie since reaching the stage. She offered him a small smile, one that she hoped might be reassuring. It was obvious to her that he was just as scared as she was; he just wasn't sure how to hide it.

Morris smiled shyly back and looked down at his shoes.

"Now, if you'd just come with me." Thalia said as Annie and Morris released their hands and turned to face her. "We'll go get you set up in the Justice Building."

* * *

Finnick knew that there weren't any cameras inside the Justice Building. There might possibly have been hidden microphones, but not cameras.

Of course, this meant that he could get away with punching the wall, provided he did so quietly.

Having already shown Annie to the room where she would be given chance to say her farewells, Thalia Whishart walked past him with Morris. She shook her head at Finnick disapprovingly, but otherwise didn't acknowledge him at all.

Morris did, though. He stopped walking and stared at him, a puzzled sort of fascination scrawled across his face. Finnick stopped attacking the wall and offered the boy a gentle smile. Morris lifted a hand and began to chew on a fingernail as Thalia noticed that he was no longer beside her and returned to usher him along.

Finnick waited until Thalia and Morris were safely around the corner before turning back to the wall and punching it again.

"Finnick," He stopped immediately when he heard the shock, the disappointment, in Mags' tone. "What on earth are you doing?"

"She's the picnic girl." He explained, his fist resting on the wall and his back to his mentor.

He'd told Mags about his annual picnics with Annie. It felt like a lifetime ago; he'd arrived home from grocery shopping in town to find his parents sitting at the table in tears, little James curled up in his mother's lap, talking to a Peacekeeper who told them that he was so _very_ sorry, but Sandra Odair had slipped while playing on the cliff and plummeted to her death. Finnick had gone straight to Mags' house the second the Peacekeeper was gone.

_"Did you do anything you perhaps shouldn't?"_ She had asked him. He'd shaken his head frantically. _"Well, then perhaps you didn't do something that you perhaps should've done?"_

She had been right, of course. Finnick found that Mags was right about most things.

"I don't mean to alarm you," She said gently. He felt her hand on his shoulder, comforting and safe. "But maybe this isn't an accident."

Finnick's head snapped around to face her.

"What do you mean?" He asked suspiciously.

Mags sighed tiredly. "Exactly what I said; perhaps it wasn't chance that your picnic girl was reaped. And you _know_ why that might happen, should it be the case."

"But," Finnick swallowed as the horror of the situation slammed into him with incredible force. "But they already _did_ goodness knows what to my little sister for that. They don't need to punish me twice, do they?"

"That was almost six months ago." Mags pointed out. "Maybe they were afraid that you might've forgotten the memo."

He punched the wall a little less fiercely than before.

Mags gave his shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze and left him be.

* * *

**I decided to be a bit rebellious with Morris. Most of the fanfics I've read make Annie's District partner big and hulking and protective. While I see why, and that does work really well, I wanted to go down a different route here. Hence cutesy, cherub-like little Morris.**

**Also, I think I might accidentally ship Thalia and the Head Peacekeeper guy. Oops.**


End file.
